Drunken Sweetheart
by AgeOfDarkness413
Summary: John Watson was completely and utterly stunned, to say in the least. It wasn't every day you walk in on your best friend drunk off his rockers trying to wank his favorite pillow in the middle of the parlor. Actually, it was Sherlock. He really shouldn't even be questioning it - but once he did, he was certainly glad about it.


Drunken Sweetheart

_One-Shot._

~oOo~

_Third Person POV_

"Sherlock? Sherlock, what in the _world _are you doing?!"

John Watson, to say in the least, was quite perturbed with – well, with whatever action _this _was, and it was safe to say that never before in his military or non-military career had he ever, _ever_ had to face a scene that even came _close _to this. Not with normal people, anyway. Well, to be brutally honest, John also knew he shouldn't be shocked with what he was scene but Sherlock never failed to be boring, in the least. A classic Sociopath, yes, but that was just the manner of things. A name. And John…well, John didn't have a name for what he was seeing.

Because Sherlock Holmes, his flatmate, most _certainly _wasn't surrounded by numerous bottles of the American Jack Daniel's whilst sitting in the middle of the living room humping _his favorite pillow. _Most certainly not.

Now, if Dr. Watson decided to walk out of that room right then and turn around and walk back in, he was sure this image would be gone and he would see the dark-haired person that happened to be his only and best friend tapping away on his own computer because Holmes's was always too far away for him to get off his lazy bum for two seconds to retrieve said object – and that was just what John did. However, he found that the scene was very much the same and no matter how many times he walked into the kitchen and henceforth into the parlor, that image would still be the same.

Briefly John thought he was dreaming – but he learned long ago that he was incapable of dreaming of anything that he didn't want to. Military training and all – getting frightened or shocked into alertness was most definitely not how one was to manage themselves upon an infiltration. So, of course dreaming was out.

He would also be more inclined to believe that this was reality if Sherlock would turn his head slightly just to actually _see _him and _reply _to his outburst, but no, of course not, the drunken sod just continued to go bump in the night with his most treasured pillow that most likely would never be used again after that moment.

"Ahem." John coughed into his fist finally, trying to get the attention of his insane friend. "_Ahem." _He coughed again, slightly louder. Still, Mr. Holmes would not turn his way. "Oh, for the love of – _Sherlock!" _John finally admonished, exasperation suddenly rolling off him in tense, coiling waves. The drunken sod finally turned his head in his direction, and, with less than a shocked face, the tall stature quickly reeled back buttocks first onto the empty floor next to the pillow.

"Oh, Watson! Perfect timing, Doctor. You see, I just happened to be working on a case and out of the blue something became of me – the urge to do an experiment. I have wondered quite often how much it would take to sodden a man of my functioning, so I had just decided to put this to the test and I think the result is of the uttermost importance! Do you see, dear John? I have quite the tolerance for alcohol, if I do say so myself!" Sherlock laughed and tilted his head to the side much like a dog would asking for a treat, leaving John to feel nothing but the need to clock the dumb genius across the face.

"And _how _does that explain my pillow, _dearest Sherlock?" _John growled under his breath as he let his left hand comb through the knots in his military-cut hair, feeling slightly awkward when the man followed his reactions with piercing blue eyes.

"Ah! That is a simple deduction. You see, when one sleeps it is almost like being dead – their body presses onto their bed and their pillow much like a dead man or woman would whilst laying inside of a coffin – hence the odor that they begin to produce after a short time. However, with us living people, our scents get keenly attached to our clothing and our pillows, which, by all means, is the most fragrant attachment to you. In simpler terms, this pillow smells like you the most; therefore I hug this quiet adamantly since you had been away for such a long time."

"Sherlock, I was gone for three hours – and that doesn't explain why you were humping my favorite pillow, you sod!" John supplied to the other as he felt one of his many headaches beginning to occur. "No, wait. Why were you even looking for something that smelled like me, anyway? What kind of experiment is that?" The blonde had asked the brunette, feeling as if he was missing a big part of the puzzle. This would more or less have disappointed sober-Sherlock, anyway.

"Oh silly, silly John! It's not an experiment! I mean, I'm assuming it could be, how as the human body and mind reacts to the smell of their favorite things – maybe cinnamon or vanilla or a common action of the sort – but this, no. Definitely not. This is me being safe."

John's eyebrows rose just then, slightly shocked at how much of an emotional drunk his friend was, and also slightly shocked that the man thought that this, above all, was him being safe. At this moment anyone of any importance could bust in and completely just manhandle his friend out of there, and he would most likely cheer to that. So what in the heaven's was Holmes babbling on about?

"Do you mind elaborating, Sherlock?" Watson spoke to the man in a calm voice as he lowered himself into the nearest chair – which, by every mean, faced directly at the scene he was plagued with forever in his mind.

"And besides –," Sherlock continued as if he hadn't spoken at all. " – I was not humping the pillow in any way, shape, or form. I was…spooning it, if you will. Hugging it." Sherlock grinned happily and tossed the pillow to the side, right before crawling on the floor like an eager puppy to John's shaking legs. When his hands reached John's feet, Sherlock lifted his head and placed it on his partner's lap, hands on either knee so the boney things would not dig into his hollow cheekbones.

"So….You're pissed poor drunk and was _hugging _my pillow because it…smelled like me?" John tried to decipher all the weird explanations he was getting at once, but he found the more that he thought about it the weirder it had got.

Sherlock nodded, his dark curls bouncing over his face. John had to admit to no one other than himself that if not arousing, the scene was just downright adorable, Drunk Sherlock or Not Drunk Sherlock. "Ah, my dear Watson, but you seem to forget the most necessary piece of information! You see, your smell always makes me feel safe, regardless of how sober I am. However, seeing as my words flow freely at this moment, I find that my shortcomings have reasoned that the smell of war and the feeling of content that is almost always with you derives a strange feeling at the pits of my chest….However, I am unable to understand this new feeling at this moment…."

John nodded then, still unable to understand a word that was pouring out from his flatmate's lips. Was the man…confessing to him? Too many, it would seem like that, but Sherlock had made it very clear that that type of attraction would never happen and he was simply 'married to his work,' as the drunken man had stated on, what was it, their first case? So maybe it was just another one of those weird experiments that the dark-haired man partook in without an actual human body part.

After all, it seemed like Sherlock was getting into human emotion quite a lot lately.

John shook his head to rid of his thoughts, deciding only to focus on the matter at hand at this moment. Which happened to be the very attractive male propped up on part of his lap staring at him with glazed blue ocean's and the friendliest smile he had ever seen Sherlock wear. "John? John, are you alright? Surely you aren't drunk as well."

John rolled his eyes and gripped the armrests with his callused fingers with a deathly grip. "I do wish I was, Sherlock. I do wish I was. However, since I am not and you are partaking in another foolish experiment, do you mind leaving me out of this one like all the others? I would love to go to bed." John finally stated. He would worry about this in the morning, Watson decided, because he didn't know if he could take anymore insanity during the last few hours of the day.

"No!" Sherlock immediately denied, leaping up off the floor with his large, lanky body shaking slightly. As if on instinct, the man suddenly plopped down on the military leaders lap, his arms wrapping around the blonde's neck to secure him in place. "You shall stay right here with me!" The drunken man supplied as he buried his face in John's neck, inhaling the sweet, sweet smell he had been talking about previously. "Oh, John. You smell absolutely _divine." _

Okay, things were getting a little bit too weird for John. And slightly hot and uncomfortable.

"Sherlock, get up. You're drunk. We need to get you to bed." John replied, forcing himself to stay completely still just to stare back into the gaze of the hazy man sitting upon places he really shouldn't be sitting.

"Ah, that's right." Sherlock pouted, his eyes glancing down to his shoulder almost depressingly. Pulling back away from his partner, Sherlock bit his lip, but continued to sit on the shorter man's lap. "You're not gay, are you?" He asked wistfully.

John, stunned, leaned back a tad bit into the chair to get a better look at the man. Was Sherlock really asking him this? He must have been drunker than the blonde originally thought. "No, Sherlock, I am not gay." He replied truthfully, a bit set off with the question. "I'm bisexual. I've dealt with both parties."

Watson was guessing that Sherlock was extremely shocked with the news, because almost nothing caused those bright blue orbs to widen as much as they did within those few seconds of silence. "B-Bisexual?" Sherlock suddenly squeaked, his fingers digging into John's shoulders with a little bit more force than needed. "Of course!" Holmes suddenly announced, a bright grin once again appearing on his face. "So I was right to read the signs! You had enlisted into the army because of course, you wanted to help those mundane people, but you also wanted to be around the more masculine party instead of in a regular hospital, where almost all the residents were female. My thoughts were proven right!"

"Ah-hah." John, to say in the least, was surprised about the bit of him plaguing Sherlock's thoughts slightly more than he had recently assumed. "I'm sure. Anyway, would you be so kind as to let me retire for the night?"

"No."

"Please, Sherlock?"

"Most definitely not. I mean, I took it upon myself to build up enough strength to get myself drunk enough as to where I was confident enough to do this, so I'm not going to let you sit here and destroy my very plan that I put into action."

"Which is?"

"Well, Watson, use your skill of deduction. How am I acting right now?"

"….Goofy. More emotional. Kind of awkward."

"Good. Continue."

"Uh…drunk? I don't know Sherlock, you seem more out of yourself and kind of jumpy – and not to mention you're experiments got a lot simpler."

"And recently?"

"Recently?"

"How have I been acting recently?"

John paused for a moment as he analyzed what the man was really asking him. To be truthful John had noticed quite a few things. Sherlock was a lot more standoffish than usual – whenever he was in the room, Sherlock would either walk out or leave claiming he had something to do. His experiments were no longer on the human body but on the human mind – his frequent obsession, what human's emotions were like. "Uh, I don't know."

"Oh, please. Of course you've noticed."

John sighed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the top of the chair. He kept them closed as he answered. "Alright. You won't look me in the eyes anymore, whenever I walk into the room you leave, your experiments are no longer based on human bodies but their minds and emotions. You haven't been complaining about being bored for a while – even though you also haven't done a job in god knows how long." He finally let out, a tad bit embarrassed that he had been paying attention to his flatmate a lot more than he should be as a friend.

"Ah, there's my good Watson. Have you grown enough to think about the possibilities of why I have been acting like this?" The voice he was listening to practically purred out, but even then John refused to open his eyes and lift his head up to stare at the other. It was all getting a lot more emotional than what he was expecting from the almost-emotionless person.

"A-Ah, no, not really." He stuttered, his lids flickering.

"Oh, don't lie to me John. You know I do not like it." Sherlock whispered, unexpectedly a lot closer than what John had first realized. He could feel the dark-haired figure's breath roll over him in warm waves, causing him to shiver slightly. If Sherlock hadn't been drunk, he would surely have already taken his pulse and realized it was literally jumping out of him.

"W-Well." John stuttered. "I thought I might have done something to annoy you, o-or you were getting tired of my constant questions and complaints. I-I was thinking that you preferred a flat alone." He explained quickly and kind of ashamed at what he was suggesting; what he was saying was nothing short of the truth and quite often had the though crossed his mind that he annoyed Sherlock a lot more than helping him, but he also knew that he couldn't bring himself to leave unless Holmes told him to.

"Oh you stupid, stupid man. You and your doubts. Yet another strange mystery of emotion." The man, who now straddled him, spoke in an almost soothing tone, leaving goose bumps upon the blonde's skin. John's jaw clenched and he swallowed. "And yet, you don't understand this situation at all, do you…?" Sherlock continued to taunt, but John wouldn't open his eyes. He couldn't. His adams apple bobbed as he swallowed once more, and he couldn't help but feel completely and utterly naked in front of the person sitting on top of him. The situation had gone from confusing to even more confusing, and John wasn't sure what the other was trying to get across. Although he never really did.

"W-Well…."

"Of course you don't." Sherlock giggled. "After all, this is only how my mind imagined it, is it not? Well, John, to say that I pity you would be an understatement." Sherlock spoke and with each word, they were hung in the air and they left John's mind reeling even more than those previous few moments he felt trapped in. However, before he was able to reply to such an answer, he felt a pair of ice-cold lips press onto his jugular and begin to nibble on the soft, tense skin there. Before he was able to stop himself, John let out a soft moan, which only spurred the man on top of him on.

"I like you, John. I always have." Sherlock murmured against the skin that was only beginning to turn red underneath the pressure he was giving his friend. "I'd even go as far as saying I've grown to love you. So I took it upon myself to get myself drunk enough to be able to say it to your face after over a year of yearning for you, yearning for your body and your mind and your thoughts and your friendship and your love – and this is how I give my feelings up to you." By that time, Sherlock had moved his lips up to press against John's ear, and the blonde couldn't help but feel a shiver pass down his spine at the seductive words he was receiving.

"B-But, why now?" John asked then, feeling as if he had just swallowed sandpaper. When Sherlock moved backwards, lifting his head off of the man's neck, John lifted his head off the chair and finally rested his gaze on the man averting his eyes. "You said yourself on our first job that you were married to your work and –."

"I did." Sherlock interrupted, not denying what the other was saying. "And at that time, what I was saying was how I felt. Not that I didn't think you attractive, but I also never let an intruder to my privacy in any more than acquaintances. Usually I push them away before it got that far – laying out their whole entire life out in front of them like it didn't matter to me what they thought. And it really different. Anyway – you were different. You called me brilliant for dissecting your life out in front of you, which, as I said, people usually say 'piss off' by then. Maybe that was a sign, I'm unsure. Emotions are still new to me."

John nodded once, slowly, still completely unsure with what the other was saying.

"Point being that you were a lot different from what I originally assumed. People are the same, you see. All of them. They may have a wide range of personalities, but everyone has that think that makes them tick – which is their life. And you called me brilliant by pointing out yours. Strange, isn't it?"

"Now that you mention it, yes. But it doesn't change the fact that it was." John found himself fighting off a smile, and instead settled for a confused frown.

"And then we started solving cases together. Of course I was always the brains, and, having some smarts backing you up in your medical field, you weren't completely clueless. And the way you stick beside me through rough and tough and push your way through with that clear brawn of your was just simply appealing – and how you would hook up with women once in a while always got my blood running for some reason I had never distinguished –."

" – Jealousy." John interrupted with a grin. "You were…jealous. Sherlock was jealous?" John repeated more to himself than the dark-haired drunkard. As he said it thrice over in his mind, he still couldn't believe what the man had just said. Jealous, huh?

"Oh, sod you. That's what it was, wasn't it?"

And, of course, Sherlock was more impressed with the new emotion and not being embarrassed about it. Sociopath.

"I'm afraid it was."

"Well then."

"Yeah." Watson pursed his lips and fought off a grin. "Well, then I assume you've already gauged my feelings."

"Well, due to the solid facts that your stature hasn't thrown me to the floor and kicked my head in yet or freaked out and started screaming for Ms. Hudson to come get you, I don't think you are completely disgusted with this change in facts."

"Then you are correct, Sherlock. Absolutely correct, as always. Because, my dear sir, do you understand what I am about to say?"

"That we need to ascend to the bedroom?"

"Ah, no. For you to get off so we could go to bed and sleep this off…and talk about this when you are sober and not nursing your first hangover."

"And?"

"That I love you too, you sodding idiot." Watson rolled his eyes and let his hand unclench from the seat to more or less ruffle his newfound lover's hair in an almost childish way. Sherlock rolled his eyes slightly and giggled with the feeling of his new lover's hands combing through his hair nonchalantly, loving the feeling of callused, strong appendages soothing his drunken mind.

"So, bedroom?" Sherlock piped in with a saucy smirk. John rolled his eyes and gave the taller man a look of exasperation.

"We're not going to have sex while you're drunk, Sherlock. We'll wait until another time."

"But, I'll remember everything! I swear!"

"No."

"Johnnnnn…."

"Sheeeerlock."

"Please?"

"No."

"John?"

"What?"

"….I think I'm going to puke."


End file.
